I have been immersed in “The Spiral of Possibility this weekend….a wonderful, transformative course run by Interbe …. And from one of the many explorations, a self portrait has popped out.
Sir Galahad, Little Miss Roberts and “The Electric” eye each other up in the bike shed
Noble steeds three
Beethoven’s soft gaze caresses me from the fridge door
(next to nothing edible within)
a solitary orange whistle on my huge worktop is at the ready for when I feel lost in the kitchen
The table is mostly a riot of paint tubes, oil and rag
Scenes of dawn in far off places or from a brave childhood cover my walls
which wrap tight around my lioness-beast Steinway
Floor to ceiling, fifty nine years of collected life in music on shelves
Bagpipes strewn across a saddle
and upstairs a little skeleton bares her red felt heart…and pours over books on anatomy and marvellous muscles .
Photos of family here and there
For twenty five years my beautiful house has evolved while I pounded the keys and wrought
the vast spectrum of humanity from those notes.
These days colour on canvas digs deep into life.
Up with the bones, my hands return healing and poise.
Oh and in the hall rack, tango shoes wrestle with walking boots and waterproofs.